Читать книгу Pericles, Prince of Tyre - Уильям Шекспир, William Szekspir, the Simon Studio - Страница 8

Mere have you seen a mighty king

His child, I wis, to incest bring;

A better prince and benign lord,

That will prove awful both in deed word.

Be quiet then as men should be,

Till he hath pass'd necessity.

I'll show you those in troubles reign,

Losing a mite, a mountain gain.

The good in conversation,

To whom I give my benison,

Is still at Tarsus, where each man

Thinks all is writ he speken can;

And, to remember what he does,

Build his statue to make him glorious:

But tidings to the contrary

Are brought your eyes; what need speak I?

Good Helicane, that stay'd at home.

Not to eat honey like a drone

From others' labours; for though he strive

To killen bad, keep good alive;

And to fulfil his prince' desire,

Sends word of all that haps in Tyre:

How Thaliard came full bent with sin

And had intent to murder him;

And that in Tarsus was not best

Longer for him to make his rest.

He, doing so, put forth to seas,

Where when men been, there's seldom ease;

For now the wind begins to blow;

Thunder above and deeps below

Make such unquiet, that the ship

Should house him safe is wreck'd and split;

And he, good prince, having all lost,

By waves from coast to coast is tost:

All perishen of man, of pelf,

Ne aught escapen but himself;

Till fortune, tired with doing bad,

Threw him ashore, to give him glad:

And here he comes. What shall be next,

Pardon old Gower, – this longs the text.

Yet cease your ire, you angry stars of heaven!

Wind, rain, and thunder, remember, earthly man

Is but a substance that must yield to you;

And I, as fits my nature, do obey you:

Alas, the sea hath cast me on the rocks,

Wash'd me from shore to shore, and left me breath

Nothing to think on but ensuing death:

Let it suffice the greatness of your powers

To have bereft a prince of all his fortunes;

And having thrown him from your watery grave,

Here to have death in peace is all he'll crave.

What, ho, Pilch!

Ha, come and bring away the nets!

What, Patch-breech, I say!

What say you, master?

FIRST FISHERMAN. Look how thou stirrest now! come away, or I'll fetch thee with a wanion.

THIRD FISHERMAN. 'Faith, master, I am thinking of the poor men that were cast away before us even now.

FIRST FISHERMAN. Alas, poor souls, it grieved my heart to hear what pitiful cries they made to us to help them, when, well-a-day, we could scarce help ourselves.

THIRD FISHERMAN. Nay, master, said not I as much when I saw the porpus how he bounced and tumbled? they say they're half fish, half flesh: a plague on them, they ne'er come but I look to be washed. Master, I marvel how the fishes live in the sea.

FIRST FISHERMAN. Why, as men do a-land; the great ones eat up the little ones: I can compare our rich misers to nothing so fitly as to a whale; a' plays and tumbles, driving the poor fry before him, and at last devours them all at a mouthful. such whales have I heard on o' the land, who never leave gaping till they they've swallowed the whole parish, church, steeple, bells, and all.

A pretty moral.

THIRD FISHERMAN. But, master, if I had been the sexton, I would have been that day in the belfry.

Why, man?

THIRD FISHERMAN. Because he should have swallowed me too; and when I had been in his belly, I would have kept such a jangling of the bells, that he should never have left, till he cast bells, steeple, church, and parish, up again. But if the good King Simonides were of my mind, —

Simonides!

THIRD FISHERMAN. We would purge the land of these drones, that rob the bee of her honey.

How from the finny subjec of the sea

These fishers tell the infirmities of men;

And from their watery empire recollect

All that may men approve or men detect!

Peace be at your labour, honest fishermen.

SECOND FISHERMAN. Honest! good fellow, what's that; If it be a day fits you, search out of the calendar, and nobody look after it.

May see the sea hath cast upon your coast.

What a drunken knave was the sea to cast thee in our way!

A man whom both the waters and the wind,

In that vast tennis-court, have made the ball

For them to play upon, entreats you pity him;

He asks of you, that never used to beg.

FIRST FISHERMAN. No, friend, cannot you beg? Here's them in our country of Greece gets more with begging than we can do with working.

Canst thou catch any fishes, then?

I never practised it.

SECOND FISHERMAN. Nay, then thou wilt starve, sure; for here's nothing to be got now-a-days, unless thou canst fish for 't.

What I have been I have forgot to know;

But what I am, want teaches me to think on:

A man throng'd up with cold: my veins are chill,

And have no more of life than may suffice

To give my tongue that heat to ask your help;

Which if you shall refuse, when I am dead,

For that I am a man, pray see me buried.

FIRST FISHERMAN. Die quoth-a? Now gods forbid! I have a gown here; come, put it on; keep thee warm. Now, afore me, a handsome fellow! Come, thou shalt go home, and we'll have flesh for holidays, fish for fasting-days, and moreo'er puddings and flap-jacks, and thou shalt be welcome.

I thank you, sir.

Hark you, my friend; you said you could not beg.